High Holy Days

On every calendar in the world there are a handful of days that are special, unique, holy. And among those holy days there's always one...one day that is so extraordinary, so festive, stupendously soul rejuvenating that it turns all of the other days into jealous little bitches.

On my calendar, that day has arrived. For today we commemorate that seismic shift in the cosmos that occurred on April 24, 1942. The day the world begat one Barbara (with three a's) Joan Streisand, just a few short miles from where I sit as I write this.

I have celebrated the day since I was about 14. Long before everybody could find out whatever they wanted to know from the internet, I used to tare through the almanac in my high school library and memorize the birthdays of people I admired. I can still see the tiny little print as I poured through dozens of entries looking for the ones I wanted: Ann Bancroft, September 17; Jill Clayburh, April 30; Eileen Brennan, September 3, and of course Barbra (now with only two a's) Streisand, April 24.

I suppose it was an odd pastime, but it's not like Topps made a series called Character Actress Trading Cards. Oh sweet Jesus, can you imagine!  

"I'll trade you a Sandy Dennis for that Thelma Ritter."

"No way! Can't you see this is a Thelma Ritter ROOKIE CARD! It's worth at least two Sandy Dennises and a Butterfly McQueen. At least."

But I digress...

I was very disappointed in the drawing I did to mark the occasion last year (it was a cute idea--Barbra wearing a Barbra t-shirt, but honestly I didn't put enough effort into it) so I wanted to try to do something special this year. I thought I'd try to capture Barbra in Yentl, which I'd never done before. But that didn't seem quite enough, so I tried to imagine her as Modigliani might have seen her. With his propensity for exaggerated features and elongated necks, Modigliani would have found a natural model in Streisand.

I'm not the first person to think of Barbra as a Modigliani. In the liner notes of her very first album in 1962, composer Harold Arlen (Over The Rainbow, Stormy Weather, Come Rain or Come Shine, and dozens of other classics) asked:

"...Have you ever heard our top vocalists 'belt,' 'whisper' or sing with that steady and urgent beat behind them?...Have you ever seen a painting by Modigliani?...If you have, do not think the above has been ballooned out of proportion. I advise you to watch Barbra Streisand's career. This young lady (a mere twenty) has a stunning future."

The Music That Makes Me Dance

                 

Musical theatre people in the know (i.e., people who agree with me) have long felt that the real standout ballad from the Funny Girl score is not People, but rather the lesser known eleven o'clock number The Music That Makes Me Dance. 

It's a soaring, bluesy ballad about devotion and, unfortunately, loosing yourself in someone else. In other words, a torch song. If it had been released as a single the way People had been, I'm not sure it would have been as big a hit. With lyrics like "and as far as the man is concerned, if I've been burned, I haven' learned," it has a darker view of love and devotion than the somber yet hopeful People with its "children needing other children."

I have to say...well, I don't have to but it's my blog so I'm gonna say I don't quite understand her costume for this number. It's a black sequined v-neck top with a floor length black skirt and a strand of pearls. There's nothing wrong with it exactly, but for me it lacks the precision of most of the other Irene Sharaff looks Barbra wore in the show. It strikes me as something she might have worn at one of her club dates in the Village more than a costume for a period Broadway show. On the other hand, it was fun and a bit of a challenge to draw sequins. 

People

A Slightly more Realistic Portrait

People was of course a big hit song for Barbra, and it stands alone just fine away from the show. However, I've always preferred it in the context of the story where Fanny and Nick both realize that despite the hustle and bustle of their busy lives and always having lots of people around, neither one of them has found true intimacy with "one very special person." 

The dress for the Broadway production is once again very similar to the one later created for the film. They both feature a dramatic bolero type jacket with large beads and peekaboo slits in the shoulders, along with a full, ankle length, iridescent skirt. The primary difference is that on stage the bodice piece was made up of delicate pink beading and the one made for the film featured a bold argyle pattern, as pictured below. 

I know I'm totally geeking out today, but I have to say it kind of feels like a holiday in my heart.

Don't Rain On My Parade

Now I'm going to geek out for a minute--as if this whole blog weren't one big geek out. 

The costume Irene Sharaff designed for Barbra to wear for Don't Rain On My Parade, the tongue twisting anthem that closes Act 1 of Funny Girl, is remarkably similar to the orange wool ensemble she designed for the film version. There are a few differences, such as the nehru collar and the centered buttons for the film version. All of the pictures I've been able to find of the Broadway dress seem to have the buttons slightly left of center. It's also missing the black belt seen in the film.

Interestingly, a version of the dress was created in green wool and tested by the filmmakers (see picture below) but ultimately scrapped in favor of the orange. 

His Love Makes Me Beautiful

I thought it would be fun if Barbra, as Fanny Brice as a pregnant bride in a Ziegfeld Follies number, was much larger and far more detailed than everyone else. If Barbra is on stage, I figure one wouldn't really be looking at the chorus boys and showgirls. 

#barbrastreisand

Funny Girl at 50: March 26, 1964

Backstage at the Winter Garden, 1964

                                   





I have drawn Barbra Streisand's face literally hundreds of times. It is my go-to doodle. My renditions are not particularly realistic but they are usually recognizable. I always start the same way: two almond shaped eyes with Cleopatra like makeup, followed by a long squiggly line for a nose, and an exceptionally puffy and wide upper lip. I've casually created her in pencil, ink, crayon, marker, sidewalk chalk, Legos, Lite Brite, and once even carved her into the side of a pumpkin (side note: the natural lines of a pumpkin are a good guide for Barbra's '60s era pageboy.)

Today, March 26, marks the 50th anniversary of the Broadway premiere of Barbra's legendary hit show Funny Girl. In honor of the occasion, and because it was fun for me to do, I've created a series of pieces (watercolor, pen, pencil, marker, but alas no pumpkin) based on the Broadway production.

Mostly I've used my standard Barbra face, with a few variations. I'll be posting them throughout the day. If you're familiar with Funny Girl, and if you've come to my blog I've got to believe that you are, then you'll know that it remains at the epicenter of Barbra's career even half a century on. If you're not familiar with it, perhaps these pieces will encourage you to seek out the film or the soundtrack. What a treat you have in front of you.

Oscar Week: Barbra Streisand

                               

Oh come on. Did you really think I'd spend a whole week of writing about Oscar winners and creating portraits and not include Barbra Streisand? Shame on you!

Barbra won her Best Actress Oscar for her film debut in the 1968 film adaptation of her Broadway triumph Funny Girl. But it wasn't solely Barbra's Oscar; in a rare tie, Barbra shared the title of Best Actress with Katherine Hepburn. 

The footage of Ingrid Bergman making the announcement is priceless. She's clearly taken aback as she starts to read aloud, "the winner," pause, pause..."it's a tie!"

 A nervous smile dances across her face as she clasps her chin then clutches her chest. "The winners are Katherine Hepburn in  Lion in the Winter." Bergman places the "the" in the middle of the title instead of the beginning, but with her beautiful accent it doesn't much matter.

After polite applause she continues, "and Barbra Streisand!" The place pretty much goes ape shit. Streisand has the original Jennifer Lawrence moment catching her enormous bell bottom pant on the stairs as she heads to the podium, nearly going ass over tit (to borrow a phrase from Helen Mirren.) Luckily for Barbra, director Anthony Harvey, who was also on his way to the podium to collect Hepburn's Oscar, was holding her hand at the time and was able to keep her upright. 

Harvey speaks first. After he finishes Barbra steps to the microphone and takes a good long look at Oscar. The unmistakable sound of her jewelry clinking against Oscar can be heard just before she address the naked golden man with her opening line from Funny Girl, "Hello, gorgeous!"

Much has been written about the sheer and sparkly pant suit Streisand wore on Oscar night. Designed by Scaasi, who was also doing her modern costumes for On A Clear Day You Can See Forever around the same time, the outfit featured a large white collar, a satin bow tie, and over-sized cuffs and on the sleeves, as well as a thin black net lining to preserve Barbra's modestly. Unfortunately the lining was no match for the television lights and photographer's flash bulbs. Barbra appeared to be going commando, especially from her backside.

Though I don't agree, many fashion wags dubbed the outfit a disaster.  At least Barbra retained a sense of humor about the situation. As Scaasi would later write, "next morning Barbra was on the phone to me, laughing about the whole episode." 

A note about the illustration: it's from a color sketch I made, then altered using photo software, and finally   hand painted the edited image using a combination of watercolor, acrylic, and marker.

Happy Birthday Barbra

It's hard for me to believe this now, but when I was 11 years old and bought the 45 for Evergreen (Love theme from A Star is Born), (and yes, that's it's official title, parenthesis and all) I had no idea that Barbra Streisand was a gay icon. I'm not sure I even knew what either of those words meant, gay or icon. I just knew that this woman, who had made me laugh so hard in What's Up, Doc? and had stirred in me a deep sense of recognition as the passionate misfit Katie Morosky in The Way We Were, was now wooing me with her singing voice...and her afrotastic hair, which practically cascaded off of the sepia toned record sleeve.

It's a relationship that spans nearly four decades now, longer than just about any other relationship in my life. Barbra's work has been there for me always, as  balm for a broken heart, as jubilant companion in happy times, and as prayer in solemn moments. 

There was a time when it would have embarrassed me to reveal these thoughts publicly. When I finally admitted to myself that I was gay, and realized that gay icons really do exist, and that Barbra was in fact one of them, I was a little mortified. I felt it cheapened my passion for all things Barbra and reduced my feelings to a joke, or even worse a stereotype.

Though it's sometimes hard to remember, I know that I can't expect to be happy while worrying about what other people think of me; worrying whether I am typical, atypical, or even stereotypical  Like every man, I need to stay true to my feelings, my thoughts, my principles. After all, as Katie says to Hubble, "People ARE their principles!" 

Happy Birthday, Barbra Joan!

Raindrops Keep Falling On My Parade

June 18, 2008

I'm on a helicopter with my friend, Bill. It's a pretty good size chopper, seating about 15 people.

We're flying over New York City's East River when I realize this isn't just a helicopter...it's a time machine! We've flown our way back to a warm, sunny day in July, 1967 to witness the filming of the motion picture Funny Girl.

From across the aisle I can barely catch a glimpse out the window of the tugboat below being used to film the great "Don't Rain On My Parade" sequence. It occurs to me that we are on the wrong river, that we should be on the Hudson at the mouth of the New York Harbor so that we can catch the Statue of Liberty in the background.

Our helicopter, one of several dotting the sky, turns south and I finally get an unobstructed view of the boat...and suddenly, there she is: Barbra Streisand standing on the bridge of the vessel, clutching her flowers and lip-synching her heart out to the prerecorded track.

I notice right away she's wearing the wrong costume. Instead of the burnt orange dress and brown fur hat, Barbra is decked out in the matching leopard skin hat and coat from the opening scene. "Well, I'm sure they know what they're doing," I think to myself.

The helicopter hovers at eye-level with the tugboat as Barbra stares intently at the horizon during a break in filming. I wave out the window in an attempt to catch her attention. I can't tell if she doesn't notice me, or if she's ignoring me. Then, remembering everything I've ever learned about time travel from science fiction movies, I decide it is probably not a good idea to call attention to myself and risk altering history. Though really, maybe I ought to say something about the outfit.

As our helicopter lands at a riverside dock and we make our way inside the terminal, Bill and I are greeted by Barbra holding open the door and singing, "Together Wherever We Go" from Gypsy.

"Would you like to come to Las Vegas with me?" Barbra asks.

"Yes, I would," I tell her excitedly.

"I bet you would," she cackles, and then disappears up an escalator, clearly not intending to take me along.

Bill and I run up a set of concrete stairs to catch our ride home. When we get to the top of the stairs and push through a set of double doors, I am bitterly disappointed to find myself on a cold, grey morning in the middle of 2008.

A soft flurry of snow starts to fall as I bite my cheeks hard to keep from crying, but I can not help myself and a small trickle of tears seeps through my clenched eyes.

"Oh, don't whine about it," Bill chastises me.

"I'm not whining," I tell him, "it's just a lot of emotion escaping."

THE FACE OF GOD

October 21, 2007

I come up out of the subway at 47th Street in Times Square. I am disoriented, unable to remember which street I live on. Instinctively I head west. Eventually I come across a building that seems familiar. I enter the lobby and wait for the elevator, along with several other people.

“It’s on the sixth floor,” I say.

A man replies, “No, it’s on the tenth floor.”

We get in the elevator and are taken to the sixteenth floor.

“We’re both wrong,” the man says.

“Yes, but I had the six and you had the ten,” I tell him.

When we get off on the sixteenth floor I’m not home at all. Rather, I’m at a large banquet hall with several round tables set up for poker. I have arrived at a Poker & Pizza benefit for a Women’s History Museum.

I find my old roommate Bill waiting for me at one of the tables, then I go to the buffet line and get a large slice with pepperoni.

Before returning to my seat, I try to hang a portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt on the wall, but I’m having trouble with the nail. I look at picture frame and see that it contains two pictures, one of Eleanor and one of Gloria Steinem. They don’t fit well together and I decide it is too tacky to hang.

I go out on the window ledge to retrieve what I believe to be a superior portrait of Eleanor, climb back inside and hang it on the wall. Just as I finish hanging the portrait, I hear the crowd inside the hall scream with anticipation as the music begins for the evening’s entertainment.

As I hear the first few notes of Barbra Streisand’s disco hit “The Main Event,” I rush in to find my seat in the bleachers. The poker tables now gone, the entire room has been transformed from a banquet hall into a large indoor stadium.

I find Bill in the bleachers as the lights come up to reveal Barbra on stage. I criticize her performance of “The Main Event” for being decidedly behind the beat.

There is no floor space in the stadium. It’s all been taken up by the giant stage and enormous Art Deco sets that fly in and out, including one that looks like the lobby of a hotel with an ornate gold caged elevator.

Barbra next sings an emotional version of “People,” and I start to warm to her performance. She follows this with a tear drenched version of “I’ve Stayed Too Long At The Fair,” during which she climbs into the bleachers to sign autographs.

As Barbra returns to the stage, my entire section, in a swell of emotion that seems to say, “NO, no, you haven’t stayed too long at the fair,” rushes toward the lip of the stage. Knowing this would upset Barbra, I do not join them.

“What are you doing!” a security guard screams as he implores everyone back to their seats. “You can’t come at her like that. You know how skittish she is.”

The length of the stage now contains an ancient Roman bath with marble columns and jewel encrusted archways. Barbra swims across the water, emerging fully dressed in a lavish golden sheath.

A video screen flashes pictures from Barbra’s life and her many loves, including Warren Beatty.

To close her show, Barbra ascends once again into my bleacher section. Wearing a dark cloak, she is heavily made up, looking like a very old woman, or maybe even a witch. She stands directly in front of me, places her hand on my shoulders and looks me square in the eye as she sings.

I start to cry and think to myself, “This is the happiest moment of my entire life. It’s like seeing the face of God.”